


I Want My Life in Two

by WaxyWolf



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Good Parent Jim "Chief" Hopper, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Parenthood, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, i wrote this before season 2 came out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 05:23:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,865
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16033868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaxyWolf/pseuds/WaxyWolf
Summary: Hopper wasn't prepared for this.He was ready for criminals, experimental drugs, heck, even space aliens.But a kid? No way.(Re-write of season two, with more parental Hopper)





	I Want My Life in Two

**Author's Note:**

> Hey lovelies! This has been a LONG time coming! I wrote this back when the first season came out, because I wanted a more complete ending. Then season two came out, and I totally called it on some things!
> 
> So this is essentially what I thought should happen in season two, because I am a sucker for parenting fics.  
> Eleven is such a captivating character for me. I really identify with her anxiety and alienation from regular objects and habits (not that I've had an experience as close to as traumatizing as living in that lab). I think Eleven, as a young female character, reclaiming her identity and her femininity, is a really really cool concept.  
> I have a lot of feelings about Eleven, okay? 
> 
> Also, I really wanted to see Hopper parent her, which we did end up seeing in the second season anyways.  
> Ignore my plot holes, I wanted something domestic sue me.
> 
> Happy Reading!
> 
> Title from Joji's "Slow Dancing In The Dark" which I have been listening to nonstop for a week.

She trails him like a shadow around the house. Hopper isn’t used to having another person around, much less a kid. When he first brings her home for the hospital, he fumbles around the house, picking up bottles and laundry. He knows he isn’t suited to having kids around, especially when every little blond girl makes his heart ache, but Eleven is different. She’s just mature enough, eyes too old for her small frame, that sometimes he forgets she is still young.  
Whatever events she’s been through, his house is still not kid-proof. In a moment of action, one night he pours all his beer and bourbon down the drain. She’s there, watching from the side of the door, flecks of peeling white paint coming off on her shirt.

She sleeps in the back room, which is full of dust and ghosts of memories. Jonathan gives her pictures of Mike, Dustin, Lucas, and Will, and soon her walls don’t look as lonely as before. Hop had hesitated at first, seeing her cover the walls with yards of scotch tape, but then he remembered the empty, sterile room he saw in the Hawkins lab, the lone crayon drawing hung up on the wall with such obvious hesitance, his words die in his throat. 

The next time they’re in town, when she’s wearing his oversized winter coat, he buys a pad of paper and a box of 24 crayons. She uses the blue crayon up the fastest, drawing skies and oceans and snow.

It’s clear by this time that she’s staying for an undetermined amount of time. Joyce takes her shopping, and they return with an armful of bags. There are practical clothes, jeans and shirts and overalls for exploring the woods in, but also pink dresses, socks with lace, soft skirts. She cradles the delicate fabric with cautious fingers, seemingly scared of damaging these clothes, of owning something so nice and belongs solely to her. Hop takes to calling her princess, and Eleven smiles.

They have a routine. Every morning he makes toast, with extra strawberry jelly for her, and a glass of orange juice. He goes to work, leaving her at home till four, when Joyce gets off work. He picks her up from the Byer’s house around five thirty. He waves goodbye to Joyce standing in the doorway, Will tucked under her arm as the car pulls out of the driveway. Eleven sits in the front seat, fiddling with a Dungeons and Dragons figurine. Hopper makes dinner, she takes a bath, and goes to bed at nine thirty. 

It’s weird to have a schedule again, after years of late nights and drinking. Sometimes he misses the alcohol, the ability to forget everything. As he studies one of her drawings left on the coffee table, he realizes he doesn’t want to forget her. He doesn’t want to let go of her, like he wanted to let go of Sarah. His heart clenches, and he wavers again, the familiar road of pain to drugs. He tears himself away from that rut, going to close the blinds. It’s time to go to bed. 

Eleven is in her room, reading. She’s been interested in the world outside her window recently, so she started reading National Geographic magazines. She looks up at him as she puts the magazine away, her growing hair still damp from the shower. She pulls the blanket over herself as Hopper turns off the lamp. She has a nightlight by the door, unable to sleep in the dark. He closes her door, but takes a look back at her, watching her breathe, steady and slow.

The winter comes slow, and then all at once. The dead leaves are blanketed with frost one morning, the ice crystals melting under Eleven’s scrutiny in her hand. Christmas arrives with a Joyce Byer’s casserole and a new coffee mug. Eleven gets new mittens and a stuffed bear from Dustin. She smiles at Mike’s stuttering as he hands her an Eggo box with several books inside. She reads A Wrinkle in Time over and over again. 

Hopper stands out on his porch at one am, smoking an old cigarette and wondering about enrolling her at the middle school come January. Those boys will keep her out of too much trouble. She deserves to have a normal childhood, or as much of one that she can get now. God knows she’ll never be a regular kid, but Hopper thinks of the kid at the station, Troy, and his lip curled into a sneer, and thinks, maybe it’s better she’s not a normal kid anyways.

She attends the boy’s Dungeons and Dragons fests, and Dustin even gets her to play a game or two. The coolest part about having someone with telekinesis play a board game is that they move the pieces with their mind. The wind roars outside the Wheeler’s basement, and Will jumps when a branch slams across the door. Eleven and Will make eye contact, the same haunted look in her eyes, and suddenly he realizes she understands. She’s not just the girl Mike, Lucas, and Dustin found in the woods; she repeatedly was forced into the Upside-Down. She understands the fear, the images. The feeling of not being alone rushes through him, and he blinks heavily. 

The game continues around him, but suddenly all he can see the dust motes floating, the blue glow, the place he was stuck in for an eternity. All he can see is a twisted version of his house, and she’s there. She’s scared, but even more frightened to turn back. He sucks in a deep breath to call out to her, but then he’s back in the real world, Lucas throwing an elf warrior at Mike’s head. Eleven is looking at him still, and he breaks eye contact. 

This moment feels private, and a little bit desperate, like both are clinging by their fingertips to this world. Sooner or later, the gate will come for them, but for now, the Wheeler’s basement is warm, and everything is semi-solid and golden. 

The question comes up many times, about what to call her. Hopper calls her ‘girl’ or ‘princess’. The boys call her ‘El’. The way Mike Wheeler says her name sounds like a prayer, like she is something fleeting. Hopper chuckles at the boy’s awkward attempts to impress a somewhat oblivious Eleven, but gives him a low glare when he feels Mike is getting too rambunctious. Joyce Byers insists they rename her something more fitting of a girl her age. “Only Things get numbers. People get names,” she proclaims loudly. 

When asked about changing her name, Eleven shrugs. Jonathan Byers takes it upon himself to let her try out as many names as possible. Every day, when Hopper picks her up from the Byers’ house at 5:30, Jonathan will call

“Goodbye Kelly.”

“So long Veronica.” 

“Goodnight Sandra.” 

Eleven giggles a little at every new name. She never picks one out from the rest, never picks a new name.  
Something tells Hopper she still expects to be taken back to the lab, and doesn’t want a lasting scar, something that will stick to her. A name is a title, and she is only a number, in her mind. His heart aches, and he puts a hand on her back. Over his cold dead body he’s ever letting those men take her back. 

In January, she is enrolled in school. Officially, on the paperwork, her name is Eleanor Hopper. The town buzzes about the new adopted daughter of the police chief. The teachers give her long looks and the kids at school sometimes call her names, the usual for anyone who stands out: “freakazoid”, “dyke”, “weirdo”. She doesn’t understand them all. But the boys are fiercely protective of her. 

Joyce gets used to cleaning up scrapes and cuts, urges the boys to stop picking fights with the older kids. But Joyce sees how Dustin clams up, how Mike puts an arm around Eleven, who is staring at her sneaker-clad feet. The cups by the sink are rattling, the curtains shaking, but there is no breeze. Joyce hands an ice pack to Lucas, chiding,  
“Well, maybe those older boys could learn to be a bit nicer, right?” Eleven smiles, a very small smile, and the cups stop clattering in the sink. As for the teachers, during conferences Hop drops the phrase “past abusive home” and the looks become more concerned than judgemental. 

Eleven struggles somewhat in school, trying to keep up with the years of experience her peers have. Especially with the social aspects of middle school, she is alienated from the crowd. But one day, on a whim Mr. McGrady sets down an advanced algebra sheet in front of her, meant for another class. She completes it with ease, blinking at his stunned expression. Then come the tests. She hates those, where she is sat in a small room for hours with paper in front of her. But the results come through; she is extremely gifted, especially in detecting patterns and problem solving. 

The teachers are clamoring for her to skip a grade or two, put her into high school, but Hopper refuses adamantly. She’s still getting used to life around kids her age. She deserves this much. He shakes off their claims that he’s holding back her potential, dismissing them with,

“Maybe in a few years. I want her to settle down here first.” That gets most of them off his back. For the really persistent ones, he sends his special glare and puts a speed trap in front of their houses. It may be childish, but that’s the point of this, isn’t it, that Eleven is still a child.  
There are plenty of bad days. Anything from a metal strainer to a pattern on a shirt in the store could set her off. She is unpredictable and wild on the worst days, and quiet on the better days. Hopper decides not to put her on any medication for her anxiety. For one, she’s twelve years old, too young for most prescriptions, and two, he doesn’t want to be anything like those men at the Hawkins Lab. 

So he handles the panic attacks himself, making sure she doesn’t hurt herself or others, trying to calm her back to reality. Mike Wheeler tries to help, when she has a fit with him nearby, but more often than not he doesn’t know what to do and ends up frustrated that he can’t fix her. Hopper appreciates his effort, whether it works or not. Eleven needs all the support he can muster. 

Just when they’re on a stretch of good days, Hopper gets a call from the school around 2:07 pm. The biology class was to dissect frogs that day, and she had run to the bathroom crying, unwilling to come out or cooperate with the staff or her friends. He’s on a case at the time, unable to come, half a town away. He hits his fist against his dashboard. Joyce couldn’t get her either, as she had just gotten a new job at the bookstore on Main Street. He doesn’t know who he can call. 

He tells the nice woman at the school office to keep her in the nurse’s office until he can get her, hands clenched tight around the steering wheel of the patrol car. He wants to kick something, hard. He regrets, just for a moment, taking in a child when he knew he didn’t lead a kid friendly life. He banishes the thought an instant later. She deserves the world, and he’d do anything to get it for her, but he hates feeling so helpless. 

He tilts his head back in frustration, happening to look down on the passenger seat. He sees the walkie talkie Dustin had gifted him, half underneath a pile of papers. The kid had told him to use it for emergencies. This is about as an emergency as it gets, barring the actual end of the world or the return of the demi-whatsit that came from the rift. Staring at the walkie talkie, Hopper gets an idea.

Jonathan Byers, is sitting on the bumper of his car at 2:10 after school when the walkie talkie crackles to life from the driver’s seat of the car. Nancy, bundled from nose to finger tips from the February cold, startles from her seat next to him, wide-eyed and alert. She had been sitting with him, enjoying the rare moment of sunshine in the February. The walkie talkies are for emergencies, they both know this. Jonathan scrambles for the device, thick fingers pressing the button on the side. Oh god, what if Will is gone again, what if his baby brother is dead, what if the government came for El, oh god-

“-athan, it’s Chief Hopper, come in. I need your help, I -” Jonathan clutches the walkie talkie to his cheek, face ashen in color.  
“Yeah, yeah this is Jonathan. What’s wrong? What’s going on? Is Will-” He can’t bring himself to say it, to ask Chief Hopper what’s wrong with Will.  
“Will? Isn’t he in school? That’s not the point. El had an episode during the school day, and neither Joyce or I can pick her up. I know it’s a lot to ask, but can you pick her up and take her to your place? Until I can come get her?” 

Jonathan has feeling returning to his hands. Will is okay. Will is okay. But El isn’t, and he can help her. He nods, then remembers that Chief Hopper can’t hear him.  
“Okay. I’m on my way.” Nancy is looking at him with wide eyes, fearful, but Jonathan shakes his head and says, “We need to get El.” 

Eleven doesn’t know what’s happening. She’s in a cold, sterile room that isn’t helping her calm down. The stuffed animals on the shelf near the cot are trembling because of it. She closes her eyes against the harsh fluorescent lights, but when she does, all she can see is that dead frog with it’s empty eyes pinned down to the table, sees herself pinned down and opened up on an operating table-

A knock sounds at the door. The woman who they call the school nurse opens it, and lets in Jonathan Byers and Nancy Wheeler. Eleven isn’t too familiar with Nancy Wheeler, only having borrowed a dress and knowing whatever comment Mike makes about her. But Jonathan she likes well enough. The first few weeks, he had frightened her, the lumbering man with hair over his eyes, big hands clapping Will’s skinny shoulder.  
But his music had fascinated her. One afternoon, when the boys were too rowdy for her tastes, she had snuck into Jonathan’s room. She ran her fingers over the dust gathering on the edge of the dresser, the lines of his jacket on a coat hanger. She looks hungrily over the stack of cassette tapes, remembering the steps Will took when he played a song for her, a couple afternoons ago. 

She fumbles her way through repeating those steps, frustrated when she can’t get the tape to play. She’s tempted to take the cassette tape apart and figure out how it works, but she’s trying not the leave a trail.

“You’ve put the tape in upside down.” Eleven jumps, startled by the sound of Jonathan’s voice. Even as she turns to face him, her shoulders are swallowing her ears, her hands held outwards, ready to defend herself. Jonathan has his hands in his pockets, distinctly harmless despite for his size. It’s hard not to feel scared of a man much bigger than herself. 

He steps closer, and she moves away. He takes the tape from the stereo gently, flipping it around and closing it in with a click. There’s a pause, where Eleven can hear Mike and the boys yelling from the living room. Then the music starts. It’s rough and loud, and she can’t tell what they’re singing about, but it’s good. She bares her teeth in a smile, and Jonathan grins in return. The thumping matches her heartbeat, and it sounds to her like rebellion and the scratch of tree bark and everything that wasn’t allowed at the Hawkins Lab. 

Music became a part of her afternoons at the Byers’ house. She would hang out with the boys, playing when it suited her, but would occasionally wander into Jonathan’s room for him to show her the latest song he had discovered. 

She can almost hear music now, seeing Jonathan and Nancy in the doorway of the nurse’s office. He is as far away from the lab as she can get, his worn flannel and dusty jeans the opposite of the bleached white glare of the tile floor. She runs into his arms, surprising him with an “Oof!” Nancy covers a smile. 

Eleven isn’t really listening as Jonathan and Nancy check her out, retrieve her backpack and coat, and take her out to the car. She clings onto Jonathan’s jacket, and Nancy keeps a soft hand on her back, and sitting in that beat up car, maybe, just maybe things will be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you liked this! Please feel free to yell about what you think of Eleven's growth and character arc in the comments!  
> Also, I chose this song specifically as 1.) a reference to the Snow Ball 2.) the way Eleven splits her life into two parts, before and after. A lot of times, trauma victims classify and break down their timelines into two parts, wanting to compartmentalize their experiences. IDK I have no idea what I'm saying I just like the show and love the song.
> 
> Kudus/comments are very much appreciated!
> 
> Come find me on Twitter and send me memes at https://twitter.com/sunstarsseokjin


End file.
